Chapter II: Planetfall

A sound more terrible than anything the young boy had ever thought possible tore the sky open. It was louder than any summer storm and deeper than a rockslide. He clung to the trunk of the tree nearest him and tried to conceal himself amidst the thick undergrowth. The sound grew louder. Trembling, he risked a look upwards through a break in the canopy and saw a dark shape flash overhead. It was huge, much larger than even the biggest flying dragon that hunted the skies.

The sound started to grow slightly quieter. The boy released his grip on the tree and edged away from it. When nothing swept down to grab him and the noise seemed to grow more distant, he slunk through the ferns; with each step he regained confidence, until he was scampering forward. He scrabbled uphill onto an outcropping and scanned the valley below.

Trees covered the valley. As small dragon flew alone, circling something that Xon could not see. All seemed normal, as it did every other day he had come up here since Butterwings, the only adult who had paid any attention to him and hugged him, died only a few sunrises ago. He had started coming up here first to get away from the others. Not that they noticed anyway. He scratched at the bluish fungus growing in his left armpit and continued his search for the flying thing.

The air was nearly silent now, but straining, he could make out a rumble like a waterfall. He couldn’t see anything along the horizon. The sound grew louder and louder, reaching a terrifying pitch again. He looked further up, towards the Great Father and his great thick belt and saw the shape again. It was just off to the side of the Great Father’s round belly and swiftly growing in size. Had the Great Father sent it, perhaps?
It roared towards him and the boy froze, unable to move as he watched its approach. Then, it turned sharply towards the valley. The dragon tried to flee as fast as it could, but the giant flying-thing overtook it and swept past it in a heartbeat. It soared past the dense trees to the drier valley beyond, its horrible growl echoing off the mountains.

What was this thing, the boy wondered? It flew but did not flap its large, broad wings; it was fierce, but did not attack him or the dragon. In fact, it didn’t seem to have a head, but its body instead tapered out at one end. And it could stop in midair! It had slowed quickly and now was stopped. No, it was still moving very slowly, and coming ever lower to the ground. Sun glinted off its back as if it were smooth water. It was now very small, but it had come to rest at the edge of the Great Forest. Xon watched for some time as it sat there. He decided that he had to get a closer look at it. It would take him most of the day to get there, but he could not let this event go by without investigating. And what if it had been sent by the Great Father?

He moved down the mountain as quickly as he could, jumping nimbly over tree roots and dodging vines that tried to snare him. Down in the valley it was much warmer and the air felt thick and wet. He pressed on, keeping an eye and ear out for any predators that might be lurking about, but hearing nothing. The forest was much quieter than usual. The flying-thing must have scared everything away.

#

As the scramjet slowed, the bright plasma dimmed and vacated the viewports, leaving a vast, desolate desert visible below. On the horizon the browns and greens of the subdesert and savannah that preceded the arctic jungles of the <moon> continent <continent> could be seen. Much of the moon was forbidding waste like this, only giving way to rainforests in the cooler latitudes that on earth would have been locked in permafrost.

“I can’t say it looks a lot better down here than it did from orbit,” Duke Leopold said. “Bloody hot and inhospitable.”

“You’ve forgotten Mars, my friend,” Martinus said. “This is Eden compared to Sinus Sabæus.”

“That it is, Your Highness.”

Martinus certainly hadn’t forgotten Mars and it’s blood-red sands that now held the bodies of so many friends. Nor did he forget his first orbital para-insertion to the unending, wide-open spaces of Ætheiopis. His stomach clenched at the thought and he whispered a quick prayer. He’d been born aboard a Guild space station orbiting Earth, played down narrow corridors and between close conduits, and was schooled in makeshift classrooms like those on the Rex. Before reaching Mars he’d fought in horrifying starship engagements and bloody boarding actions – but none of those memories were as terrifying those vast planes, unbounded by any walls or bulkheads.

Soon they were over the lush forests that were home to the few scattered settlements of humans still living on <moon>. To the right, a cluster of emerald foothills surrounded a perfectly round valley. Two hundred years ago there had probably been a city there, but now it housed thick jungle like the rest of this region. The Astrogator piloting the scramjet took them lower, and the crater passed from view behind the mountains. He banked the craft and pulled around for a visual reconnaissance of the landing zone Martinus had selected from orbit.

A couple dozen kilometres ahead, the forests gave way to another circular valley, this one drier than the first, with a substantial grassland that the scramjet could land on, and which would be suitable for the building of an Imperial town with surrounding croplands. It was also less than a day’s walk from one of the larger indigenous settlements, or it would be, once they cleared a path through the jungle.

The engines roared louder and the craft slowed, drifting ever closer to the ground. With a soft shudder, they were planet-side. Martinus stood and moved to the main hatch. Before opening it, he touched the intercom to the cockpit.

“We’re ready to debark. Sensor readings?”

“Only one life sign on our scopes within five kilometres, Sir,” came the response.

“Wildlife?”

“No, Sir. A human … a young human boy, perhaps seven or eight years old judging by his height and weight. Probably from the local settlement. Everything else appears to have been scared away by the scramjet, but he’s actually heading towards us.”
“Hardly a threat.” Martinus fingered the gold laurel-wreath that encircled the top of his sallet, then reached for the control pad beside the door. “Opening primary hatch.”
His lords, save Leopold, had all railed against his plan to be the first to set foot on <moon> without even sending probes down first. If something went wrong, they’d argued, the expedition would be left head-less. But what good was a leader who didn’t lead? And what purpose to travelling billions of kilometres only to send machines to first touch the soil of this world? Had Columbus sent an underling ahead to set the first European foot on the New World? Martinus had never ordered his troops to go anywhere he himself was not willing to lead them, and he would not start now. To satisfy the lords, he had brought guards and wore the helmet and cuirass of the bone-coloured and heavily engraved armour <lord> had given him as a gift when he’d been named viceroy of this expedition.

He stepped to the threshold and was slapped in the face by the heavy, wet air of <moon>. The heat was monstrous, and the rotting smell of the jungle ahead urged his gullet upwards. His heart pounded and he swallowed hard. On Mars he’d been reduced to a quivering puddle of cowardice at the vast expanses, unable to help his comrades as they engaged the Republican troops. He felt that same sickly hand of terror reaching up from his chest, as he looked out at the massive cerulean sky. Straight ahead and to either side, grass, trees, more trees – a nightmare of unending terrain stretched. No; he had control. He gripped his sceptre tightly ground his teeth together.

“Deus le vult.”

“Deus le vult, Your Highness,” Leopold responded. He was one of the few that knew and understood Martinus’ agony.

Martinus forced his foot forward until it landed heavily on the ramp that stretched down to the savannah below. He lifted the other, which felt as if it were chained to the prefabricated chapel packed in the scramjet’s hold. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn the cuirass … no, it wasn’t that heavy, this was all in his mind.

Finally, he was at the bottom of the ramp. The world seemed to spin around him and he gulped the syrupy air. Many had criticized the practice of raising children from birth aboard the ancient space stations that worked for generations on the mission-ships. Fighting the urge to flee back up the ramp to the enclosed safety of the scramjet, Martinus was certain they had reason; God had created men out of earth not stardust.. He could float untethered over the bottomless pit of space without fear, yet on a planet’s surface … but he was a rational man and could overcome irrational fear.

Opening his eyes again, the clearing was now still and behind him he could hear the others of the landing party nearing the bottom of the ramp. Martinus moved out onto the flattened grass ahead. Drawing his sword, he knelt, and drove the tip into the soft ground. Wet warmth soaked through the knee of his pants.

“I claim this world as the dominion of Christ the King and His Most Catholic and Imperial Highness, Charles VII.”

#

The sun had crossed most of the sky but was still above the mountains when the boy made it to the edge of the forest. Now he moved very quietly and slowly through the ferns, so as not to disturb the great flying-thing. He peered around a tree and froze.

It was even bigger than he expected, bigger even than the long necked beasts that roamed the further parts of the plateau. A great mouth gaped open along its side with a whitish mist pouring forth. But the most shocking thing was the men! There were nearly as many of them in the clearing as lived in the boy’s village. At least he thought they were men; they had the faces of men, but without any hair on them. Or at least most of them; he saw a large man whose face was covered in black hair turning grey, save his chin. All of the man-faces were very pale and soft-looking. They had two arms and legs, but they were thick limbed and covered in some sort of wrapping.

He gasped when he saw one come into view who seemed to have sunlight about his head and a chest of bone carved with many shapes. This one carried a shining stick of some sort.
One of the creatures looked in his direction, and the boy cast himself flat on the ground. It appeared not to notice. This one was covered in the colour of sand, with a strange covering on top of his head. A large stick hung from about his waist. In his hands he held a strange, dark thing that might have been a club. The creature actually had the face of a young man, like those of the village who laughed at the boy because he had not chosen a name for himself yet. Another being approached the one clad in sand, this one’s body a light shade like the Lavender Flower.

They made sounds that the boy couldn’t understand, then turned to look at an object that had been set up near the flying creature. There were three steps leading up to a large stone with a flat top and sides, covered in yet more carvings. Out of the stone protruded a large tree, incredibly straight and smooth, with only two straight branches extending opposite each other nearer the top. The beings in the clearing all removed their head coverings as a high-pitched chime rang through the air.

Another of the man-faced creatures emerged from the mouth of the flying-creature. The top of his head (for its face looked like a man’s) was bald but for a ring of hair that circled all around. His wrappings shone with light as if a thousand tiny suns adorned them. The boy could see the colour of blood, very bright blood, between the shining colour. It held in its hands something covered in another blood-coloured wrapping. Other beings moved to either side of this one, covered in the colour of the clouds that did not rain. These three moved towards the flat-topped rock and the tree. The bloody one stopped, bending over at the waist, then moved up the stairs and placed the object it was carrying on the rock.

The creature in blood colours returned to the bottom of the stairs. All the other beings fell to their knees and seemed to be staring very intently towards the blood-covered one as well. The boy crept forward even more. Everyone was silent, but the bloody one was speaking quietly. The boy was able to make out what could have been words, very sharp and precise sounds.

“… Introíbo ad altáre Dei …”

The ones on either side of the bloody one, who had waited at the bottom of the stairs for him, made sounds of their own, but the boy could not make them out. He moved as close as he dared, laying flat among the shrubs. He could almost reach out and touch the bottom of the hard, dark, flat foot of the sandy one that had almost seen him. He scarcely breathed as he watched the events. It seemed to him that something very important was happening. All the creatures except the bloody one and his helpers kept very quiet and motionless aside from slapping at the occasional bug that came near. It struck the boy as strange that these being would be effected by mere insects.

The bloody one moved up the steps to the flat-topped stone and for some time performed some works up there, here-and-there turning around to face the other beings then returning towards the smooth tree. The object it had carried was revealed to be a cup that shone like the bright colour of his wrappings. After a time, the bloody one bent low over the cup and another shiny dish. Everyone became absolutely still and even the birds and other forest creatures seemed to grow silent. More high pitched sounds, then the bloody one knelt, stood, and lifted up over his head a small white disc which he stared up at. All the other beings stared at it, and the boy sucked in a breath as he looked at the expressions on their faces. They were all very calm, but their eyes seemed to shine. The boy had no words for why his limbs began to tremble and he felt the urge to avert his eyes and bow low.

#

Father Philip Maria de la Veracruz, O.P., turned from the altar towards the assembled soldiers of Duke Leopold of Boise, and Astrogators standing in the clearing at the foot of the altar. “Dóminus vobíscum.”

“Et cum spíritu tuo,” replied the server.

“Ite, Missa est.”

“Deo grátias.”

Fr. Veracruz couldn’t help but hear the hint of relief in his fellow priest’s voice as he intoned the response. He couldn’t blame them; it was as hot down here on <moon> as in the Fifth Circle of Hell, he was certain. He gave the blessing, read the last gospel, and prayed the Leonine/Clementine prayers mandated to follow a low Mass with a measure of relief himself. Even with the cool air washing over him from the scramjet’s open hatch, the heat beat into him. Beneath his vestments he could feel his habit damp with sweat and the top of his tonsured head felt scorched by the sun. A quick way to a red zucchetto he thought to himself with a smile. He reminded himself that all of this was the best way to start such a mission: with the Holy Sacrifice and a measure of penance.

He returned to the scramjet’s cabin, a refreshing chill that felt almost arctic washing over him. He removed his vestments slowly, relishing the cool.

“Miserére nobis, I think we nearly had more martyrs while offering that Mass!” Father Gregory Halbert, S.S.I.L., one of the priests that had assisted Fr. Veracruz, pulled off his surplice and sat bonelessly in a nearby seat. “It was fitting that the Admiral chose the feast of the United Earth Martyrs for our landing!”

“It was fitting for more reason than that.” Fr. Veracruz kissed the red maniple and placed it atop the chasuble which lay on the plastic sheet that would roll into a tube for transport on his missionary’s pack once he was finished divesting. “The very reason for our journey was because of United Earth and the scourge of its ‘enlightened’ madness that didn’t spare even the stars. Do you realise that this was the first Mass ever celebrated on this planet?”

Fr. Halbert wiped his brow. “I hadn’t actually thought about it, but I suppose you’re right. One takes it for granted that the Mass is again available everywhere, but not out here. I just hope we didn’t scare the locals too much when we came in for landing.”

“I pray more that Fr. Slowik will be able to decipher their dialect quickly.”

At that moment, the broad-faced Fr. Maximilian Slowik, S.S.I.L., another Jesuit like Fr. Halbert, entered the scramjet carrying the altar missal. He spoke with only a hint of an accent, belying his Polish origin. “There is good to be found even in evil. Thanks to the United Earth government’s wish for a ‘universal’ language, these people are almost certain to speak some variation of Canto-Anglic -- a barbarically simple language with a tiny vocabulary.”

“You sound like Abbot Carolus,” Fr. Halbert said. “Suffering the backwardness of the universe.”

Fr. Slowik sighed. “For a linguist, having to devote most of one’s study to Canto-Anglic is a particular cross to bear, father. Trust me. It has no grace, no precision. Hardly any way to express one’s self … which was exactly the point, of course.”

Fr. Veracruz packed the last of his things and sealed his missionary pack. They would leave for the local village the next morning, so he stowed it in a storage locker, and removed a large, broad-brimmed capello romano for his head and the Dominican friar’s traditional black cloak. Unlike those worn by the Order of Friars Preachers’ most holy father Dominic and his contemporaries a millennium and a half ago, Fr. Veracruz’s cloak, like his hat, would regulate the flow of heat to or from his body depending on the surroundings, allowing for a level of comfort that made even the most extreme climates bearable.

He stepped out onto the exit ramp and down to the soft, moist soil. At the scramjet’s rear, a group of four Astrogators were manoeuvring a collapsible building, supported by suspensors, out of the craft’s hold. Fr. Veracruz looked to the north and could see more of them, wearing the purple of the guild in the light lavender shade of their hot climate uniforms, erecting what would be this first outpost’s magazine. Beyond them, he could see two of Duke Leopold’s men fastening a pole in the ground that would form part of the defensive barrier. With a loud creaking, another group of soldiers tore down a set of palm trees beyond that.

The viceroy, Admiral Martinus Cornwallis Leocorde, and Duke Leopold of Boise were standing not far from the foot of the altar. A servant was unfastening Martinus’ cuirass, while the duke barked instructions to a group of his men marching towards the magazine. Both turned as Fr. Veracruz approached.

“Ah, Father, I trust you’re not finding this heat too troublesome?” The Duke Leopold’s bearded jaw jutted out as he spoke, giving him a rather hardened look.

“I am well, thank you Lord Leopold. Your Highness,” he bowed his head slightly towards Martinus. “How goes the settlement?”

“We’re well underway, father.” Despite the heat, Martinus was pale – even more so than life aboard a space ship was responsible for. Despite that, he was completely hiding the extreme agoraphobia that Fr. Veracruz knew he suffered from. “I expect the men will have the main buildings and the security fence erected by sundown. We’ll have a safe home for the night.”

Duke Leopold arched a thick black brow. “I’d like to see a little more urgency from the men, myself. But I suppose this isn’t a war zone after all. I’ll have to run them through some paces all the same tonight. Can’t be having slackness, no matter how primitive the locals.”

“I don’t expect any weapons to be needed during our stay here.”

“Nor do I, father, I assure you.” Martinus smiled. “At least not if we can help it. But we won’t know what we truly face until tomorrow -- and probably not even then.”
Duke Leopold grunted his consent. “I may be an old warrior, but I’m not looking for a fight.” He pulled three silver cylinders slightly thicker and longer than his index finger from a pocket inside his tunic. From them he produced cigars, handed one to Martinus and offered another to Fr. Veracruz. “Bloody long time aboard ship without any smoking allowed; this seems a worthy occasion.”

“No, thank you.”

“As you please, father.”

A young red-headed and pale boy marched briskly up to them and snapped to attention. Prince Simeon was one of Fr. Veracruz’s students. He was a very bright young man, but one who took everything too seriously. He stood silently for a long moment before Duke Leopold barked,

“Well, what is it, lad?”

Simeon’s face was an expressionless mask as he answered, although his cheeks turned a little redder than they already were. “Uh, Milord, that native boy who we saw coming down the mountain while we were setting up for Mass … Our scopes show he’s hiding in those bushes at the edge of the clearing.”

All eyes followed Simeon’s gesture. Fr. Veracruz could see nothing but ferns and other shrubs about the base of the last trees marking the edge of the forest. Martinus chuckled.

“A boy of strong courage and stronger curiosity. Our first convert, maybe?”

“Little beggar was probably there for the whole Mass, while no one was scanning.” Duke Leopold adjusted a dial on his helmet. “Ah yes, there he is. Still watching us. What should we do with him, Your Highness? He’s well inside the defensive perimeter.”

“I don’t think he’ll do us any harm, leave him be for now.”
“But if he wants to go home once we’ve got the perimeter powered-up, he won’t be able to get out.”

“Can we not leave the perimeter off?” Fr. Veracruz asked.

“While the natives pose no real threat, father, the local wildlife may.” Martinus smiled again and cocked an eyebrow. “And we can hardly take even the slightest chance with the Imperial Viceroy planet-side. But in all seriousness, there are potential risks not worth taking at this point if we let our guard down.”

“Bloody carnivorous reptiles running about. The scramjet scared them off for now, but you can be sure they’ll regain their courage and return before long, especially when it’s dark.”

“You would know better than I,” Fr. Veracruz said. “Hmmm. If we don’t need to activate the defences until after nightfall, that still gives him time to decide to return home. If we leave the curious child nothing interesting to look at, he’ll leave I suspect.”

“Boring him may be the difficult part,” Martinus said. “But we’ll stop work a few hours before sundown. Perhaps the lack of activity will encourage him to return home.”

“Thank you for your indulgence, Your Highness,” the friar said, bowing slightly. “I’m sure you must find it frustrating to have clergy and civilians around at times like this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to Terce with my brother friars.”

#

The orange-tinged sun crested the parent planet Epsilon Eridani I several hours earlier than the space farers were used to rising. The days on <moon> were two hours shorter than on Earth, although even this was complicated somewhat by the fact that <moon>. The beginnings of a colony having been completed the day before, including a church, a courthouse, and a magazine, the landing party was assembled immediately after morning Mass to approach the village.

A tracked crawler preceded the group, clearing a path through the trees with large claws and laying them in rows along the side of the path. Behind this Martinus and his Astrogators and Duke Leopold with his cadre of soldiers, followed in a hovering troop carrier. Fr. Veracruz and his friars held the rear position on foot, as their Rule stipulated that they always travel in the simplest manner possible. The two Jesuits, Frs. Halbert and Slowik joined them, although Rule of the Society of St. Ignatius Loyola had no such specific prescription.

Fr. Veracruz took this opportunity to absorb the new sights that surrounded him. Not only was the teeming jungle a clear change from the unending walls of the Rex Cœléstis, but it was different from anything he’d seen on earth. The gravity was lighter, about .9 of Earth Normal and as a result the trees of the rainforest had grown to heights impossible on Earth. They soared heavenward, many of them taller than the great rebuilt cathedrals of Europe. The sky was dominated by tall, dark clouds, although the sun, weaker than that on earth, still peeked through. Looming above even the tall trees, he could see massive mountains.

“Father Veracruz, look!” Brother Florian, one of the preaching friars Fr. Veracruz had brought along, pointed to a dark shape circling in the sky above them. “I think that is one of the flying sauroids we were told about.”

The creature swept a little lower, perhaps to take a better look at the strangers below it. Fr. Veracruz could make out large, leathery, bat-like wings, and a long pointed head. After making a low dive, it then soared up and out of view behind the trees.

Fr. Veracruz pulled his rosary from inside his habit and unfurled it. “We should ask for Our Lady’s assistance. We will need her intercessions for the conversion of souls here on this planet, and we should also offer up any suffering we can to that purpose,” he said, looking in the direction of Fr. Halbert who had just slapped himself on the neck, trying to kill an attacking insect.

As they were concluding the fifth Glorious Mystery, the group of friars and priests caught up with the others, who had stopped to wait for them to catch up. Those that were sitting leaned up against trees or using the felled ones as benches, stood as the priests approached.

“We’re almost at the village, fathers,” Martinus said. “I think we should all go on foot from here to avoid scaring the villagers too much.”

“If it’s not too late,” Duke Leopold grumbled. “Lord only knows what they’ve thought of all the racket we’d been making so far.”

Fr Veracruz only bowed slightly towards Martinus. “Very good, Your Highness. I shall give you my blessing.”

All knelt as Fr. Veracruz gave his priestly blessing to the group. Then he moved through them to the fore to lead the way into the last trees that separated them from the village. Just as he passed the crawler, the ground shuddered beneath him and he fell against the hot metal of the vehicle.

“I hope they don’t take that as some sort of sign from heaven,” Fr. Halbert said.

“I doubt it,” Duke Leopold said quietly. “This planet has a lot of tectonic activity. Not having any earthquakes yesterday would probably be more of a sign to them than this one just now.”

Fr. Veracruz stood upright and continued forward. The underbrush was thick and he had to force his way through it. Prince Simeon stepped forward with his dagger unsheathed and cut away vines that blocked the priest’s path as he advanced. The foliage became less dense, and Fr. Veracruz could see huts ahead, clustered in an area cleared of trees. His heart beat quickened with anticipation – more than ten light years had been bridged so that he and his fellows could bring the Light of Faith to these people. He would soon be able to begin preaching as never before, to pagans who had no clue about the wonderful truths of the Faith.

#